


Happy New Year, Vera

by coverofnight



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coverofnight/pseuds/coverofnight
Summary: Joan and Vera spend New Year's Eve together.





	Happy New Year, Vera

A strange calm settled over Joan as she pulled into her parking space. Just seeing that large and impenetrable edifice before her was enough to do the trick. It had been a long week away from Wentworth. It was her truest home, after all, even in spite of its flaws and uncleanliness. To finally arrive at this day and just before the start of a new year was something of a triumph in her mind.

The week between Christmas and New Year's Eve had been spent in total silence and solitude, which wasn't unusual for her. She almost liked it that way, orchestrated it for herself even, if only for the simple fact that the Christmas holiday reminded her of her late mother. So, she tried to turn inward during these days to avoid total chaos inasmuch was possible in her state of being.

Her rather secluded lifestyle made all of it so easy, much easier than it would have been for someone of a different temperament. Unlike so many, Joan wasn't terribly bothered that the phone never rang or that the postman hardly knocked. No, in fact, she embraced her week-long, self-imposed isolation. The only allowance she made was for the television which she sometimes turned on to create the illusion of company, but never raised the volume high enough to be noticeable. By and large, only her own thoughts and imperceptible mutterings provided the soundtrack to what she’d always considered a rather dour holiday.

Glad as she was for the time to relax and reflect, a different kind of switch was turned on inside her when the time came to return to Wentworth. Some part of her was relieved that it was finally over. Not that she expected much of her inner quietude to cease once she crossed the threshold into the prison, but at least there was noise. And company. Even in its lowest form.

She trailed the halls of the prison, taking scant glances at officers as they nodded hello. She never nodded back; to do so would have been an act of deference and Joan Ferguson deferred to no one. Except, perhaps, to Vera, who stepped into her office no sooner than she sat down at her desk.

The young deputy stood resolutely between the two chairs set before the desk, clasped her hands neatly over her pelvis, and waited for instruction. Joan didn’t give it right away. In fact, she did not offer any acknowledgment of the woman in front of her until she was through wiping her desk clean of the thin layer of dust that had settled while she was away.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if to taunt Vera or even test her patience. But always true to form, Vera simply waited to be spoken to.

Joan never said a word and merely caught Vera’s gaze once the dusty wipe was tossed into the trash bin beneath the desk.

“Governor,” Vera said flatly.

It wasn’t the kind of greeting Joan expected after a week away. Vera was usually more cheerful, even if only a little. The deputy’s lack of enthusiasm made Joan think twice about a secret she’d been sitting on for weeks: a gift she’d tucked away in her desk. She was waiting for the right time to present it to Vera. She thought today, which was still festive enough in spite of the dawn of the new year, might be an appropriate time to give it.

Perhaps not.

Without giving it a second's thought, Joan slipped a foot around the open drawer of her desk, which contained the gift and the moist wipes she kept for cleaning, and kicked it shut.

“Morning, Vera,” Joan finally said. “I take it things went well. I didn’t hear a peep from you.”

The words flowed from Joan’s mouth more condescendingly than she’d intended. She only realized the impact of her tone when Vera bowed her head, rolled her eyes as inconspicuously as possible, and nodded.

“We had a few scuffles, but nothing we couldn’t manage,” Vera admitted. “They’re always well-behaved around the holidays. Besides, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Joan only nodded and hummed an acknowledgement in a low timbre. It seemed too late to recover from her gaffe and any apology would have only made things worse. So, Joan thought it best to keep her words minimal. The only problem with that was it kept Vera’s mouth moving.

“I hope you had a nice holiday,” Vera said, her inflection rising toward the end of her sentence to indicate she meant to ask a question, but didn’t dare tread into private matters.

Again, Joan nodded. “I did, thank you. And yourself?”

Vera only nodded an affirmative. Just then, she felt a mostly unfamiliar ache beneath her breast. She, too, had spent Christmas alone, the very first without her mother, yet she hadn't felt a need to take an entire week to herself. Perhaps that was because her grief wasn't as great as Joan's. But Vera had hardly any knowledge of that or of what it cost Joan to take time away from the very thing that gave her purpose and seek solace in private.

Then again, she wasn't like Joan. She preferred the company of people even if those people were her coworkers. A smile here, a laugh there — it could make all the difference between a good day and a bad one.  

No, she wasn't like Joan at all and wouldn't ever be in this regard. Vera’s grief was self-made and barely felt enough to make any significant impact on her well-being whatsoever. Still, she recognized a sliver of herself in Joan — a sadness around the eyes or even a hint of skepticism around the mouth. She couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, it somehow linked her to the woman and prompted her to make an unexpected proposition once the morning's business had been tended to.

“I know this might seem like a strange ask, but would you like to spend the evening with me?” Vera shrugged like a schoolgirl and nervously clasped her hands together. “We could order some Chinese and ring in the new year together. Assuming you don't have plans, of course.”

Joan let a small smile pass over her lips. The sight of Vera growing giddy with nerves in front of her was unexpectedly amusing. More amusing, perhaps, was that she accepted the invite without hesitation.

“I'd love to,” Joan said calmly. “I have one request, though.”

“What's that?”

“Let me cook for you.”

 

* * *

 

Lemon chicken, steamed rice, and vegetables. That was the menu they agreed upon before parting ways that morning. It was one of the few semi-authentic Chinese dishes Joan knew well enough to piece together without the comforts of her own kitchen and for which she could at least supply Vera with a list of groceries to obtain before they reconvened at her house that evening.

Joan arrived just as Vera was hauling the groceries inside. She parked the car and sat for a moment watching her small-framed deputy lug two large bags to the front door. Something about the sight of it made her chuckle, and as she did so, she stepped out of the car and called out to Vera.

“Need help with those?” she said.

Vera turned on her heel. The voice was familiar, sure, but the woman who stood just a few feet away? So little about her was recognizable to Vera. In an instant, she assessed what was different between Governor Joan and the strange woman approaching her: the raven hair flowed free, the uniform was swapped for a crimson blouse and black slacks, and more importantly, the sadness and skepticism of the morning was washed from her face.

If Vera squinted long enough, she might have even spotted a smile there on those unusually red lips, but the low light of evening masked her view. In lieu of it, she felt soft hands grip the bags in hers and heard a gentle voice prompt her to show her guest inside.

At the doorstep, Joan loomed large behind Vera. She watched her deputy carefully, as if taking in all the small details about the woman that were unknown to her while they were working. The way she hauled her purse over her shoulder, for instance. Or how her fingers maneuvered the key into the keyhole. Something about the scene moved Joan. Perhaps it was the forward thrust of Vera’s shoulders or the low grunt that came from her chest as she pushed the door open that struck Joan a little funny in the gut. Whatever it was, it was enough to distract her from the low hanging mistletoe that nearly smacked her in the face as soon as she stepped inside.

“Oof,” Joan said quietly as she dodged it.

Vera turned just then, saw the mistletoe clinging to the top of Joan’s head, and suppressed a laugh. “Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. Mum always hung it there,” she said as she bent over to extract the bags from Joan's hands. “I hadn't planned for anyone taller than myself to walk through that door.”

Jokes aside, Vera was rather embarrassed to have hung the mistletoe in the first place and secretly cursed the stupid thing as Joan disentangled her hair from it. “Just...just rip it down if you have to. Season’s over anyway.”

Joan didn’t dare do such a thing. She merely removed her hair from it and left it hanging. She thought it rather endearing that Vera would hang it in memory of her mother and wondered how a lone person such as Vera survived without the kind of affection she seemed so keen to receive. It never even occurred to her that she, too, was alone and craving affection herself. If she wasn’t, she likely wouldn’t have found herself wrapped in Rita’s old apron and whipping up a New Year’s Eve meal for herself and her deputy.

But there she was, working her magic over the stove as Vera darted upstairs for a quick shower and change. When Vera returned to the scene, Joan glanced up to smile in greeting at her deputy and found that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Vera’s hair was down and damp, and she wore dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. The overall look wasn’t particularly impressive by Joan’s standards; had she seen any other woman on the street in the same attire, she wouldn’t have done quite the double take she had when Vera came into view.

The lingering look from Joan embarrassed Vera, almost more so than the mistletoe business from which she still hadn’t totally recovered. Aware of this,  Joan occasionally made an effort to turn to where Vera sat at the kitchen table and offer a small smile as if to disarm her.

In time, it worked. As Joan laid out plates and glasses, Vera asked if she might help. Joan smiled to herself.

“I left something in the car. Would it be too much trouble for you to retrieve it for me?” Joan inquired softly.

Vera jumped up in excitement. “Of course! Anything you need!”

“Keys are in my purse.” Joan nodded to her purse which hung on the back of a chair at the far end of the table.

Vera retrieved the keys and dangled them for Joan to see. “What am I looking for, exactly?”

“It has your name on it.”

Vera was surprised by this. A gift? For her? From the Governor? Impossible. Also embarrassing because she hadn’t thought to secure a gift for Joan. Her momentary bewilderment went unnoticed as Joan had already focused her attention on something else entirely. So, she excused herself quietly and slipped outside to retrieve a gift bag from the car. Her name, sure enough, was written neatly on a label that dangled from the bag’s handle. Vera smiled to herself upon seeing it and took a moment to savor the knowledge that Governor Joan Ferguson, her tough and often unyielding boss, thought enough of her to give her a gift. When she turned toward the house again, she thought she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of Joan standing watch at the window. But the apparition was gone before Vera could be sure.

Once inside, Vera set the bag on the kitchen counter and turned to Joan. Joan only nodded, indicating that Vera should open her present. Doing so unveiled a bottle of wine, which Vera handed to Joan to crack open, and a book: _The Collected Stories of Colette_.

Vera held the book in her hands and absorbed the strangely illustrated cover which depicted a robed woman sitting at a vanity and staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman, upon close inspection, wasn’t unlike Joan herself, only the hair was shorter and she, perhaps, exuded a different kind of feminine charm than Joan usually did.

“I don’t know how often you read, but I thought these stories might bring you comfort,” Joan said. The unspoken reference to Vera’s mother didn’t go unnoticed.

Vera nodded in understanding. “I do read. Thank you,” she said. She forced a smile before continuing, “I didn’t get you anything. I wasn’t expecting—”

“Don’t worry about me, Vera. Your invitation was enough,” Joan said. Her eyes and mouth were serious, as if she meant to convey that Vera’s gesture hadn’t been taken lightly. In truth, it hadn’t. Joan couldn’t remember the last time she was invited anywhere to spend an evening with anyone. That Vera was the first to do so in all the years Joan had spent alone seemed, at least to Joan, wholly appropriate and, ultimately, justified. They two had come together for a reason. It was only right that Vera finally know that now.

Soon after they sat down to eat, Joan broached the topic carefully. “I think of my mother quite a lot around this time, too,” she said seemingly out of the blue.

The statement shocked Vera more for its being shared than for its content. When did the Governor ever share anything?

Vera hesitated a moment before responding. “Has she passed, too?”

Joan took a sip of wine. “Yes, a long time ago now.”

“Do you spend the holidays with family, then? I imagine having people close helps.”

Joan shook her head. “I don’t have family.” Her eyes darkened and met Vera's just then. Thankfully, that was enough to make Vera understand.

“I'm sorry, Joan,” Vera said, reaching a hand across the table to grip Joan's.

For Joan, the contact was as repelling as it was desirable. She detested the idea that Vera would touch her out of sympathy, but absolutely ached with the kind of longing that made her human. She tried not to flinch when Vera's thumb caressed her skin.

“It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, doesn't it?” Vera finally said as she retracted her hand.

Joan nearly reached out to grab hold of it, but resisted. At the very least, Vera finally knew what she felt but couldn't express. That seemed enough. For now.

The rest of the meal passed without word or incident and when they finished their last bites, Joan swiftly cleared the table and stationed herself at the sink to wash dishes.

Seeing this, Vera jumped up and put a hand to Joan’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”

Joan turned and furrowed her brow at Vera. “Oh no, I insist. My mess. Only right I should clean it.”

“Please, Joan, it’s nearly midnight. Leave that for the morning,” Vera insisted.

Joan paused. Was Vera under the impression she was staying the night?

Vera’s eyes went wide. “I-I mean, leave it for me to take care of in the morning,” she said.

Joan only nodded and continued her dish-washing. The act itself was soothing and, thankfully, distracting. The mere thought of spending the night sent a chill down Joan’s spine. She hadn’t dared envision it before, but now that Vera had all but suggested it, the image of their bodies entangled in a lover’s dance was all she could think about.

Vera, meanwhile, paced back and forth behind Joan, sipping her wine and trying to find a way around yet another embarrassing turn in a night full of blunders. Should she offer to let Joan stay the night? Should she let it be? No answer seemed to be the right one, so she, too, stationed herself near the sink.

“Hand them to me. I’ll dry them,” she said, procuring a towel from a drawer in front of her and shrugging her shoulders at Joan.

Again, Joan nodded and handed her a plate, then a glass, then a handful of utensils. When she was done washing, she stepped away to dry her hands and contemplate her next move. But by the time one came to her, Vera was tugging at her elbow in a childlike way. Joan could only oblige the wordless request to follow Vera into the living room where the television was blaring some atrocious music in anticipation of the night's countdown to the new year.

Vera planted herself in front of it and watched, bobbing her head to the music and nursing her drink.

Joan stood just a few feet off,  taking in what Vera seemed to be offering: soft hair, small shoulders, a petite waist. A sense of belonging. All of it seemed so perfectly proportioned, especially in relation to herself. How could she not reach out a hand to the shoulder that fit so snugly in her palm? And when Vera looked up at her and offered a smile, how could she not let that hand trail the length of the arm, then the small of her back, and finally settle on her hip?

Vera froze, but did not protest. Instead, she let her body ease into Joan's touch.

“This alright?” Joan asked.

“Mm hm,” was all Vera managed. Her voice was caught in her throat. Every hair on her body seemed to stand on end and her mind whirred with all the meanings and possibilities of this moment.

But Joan didn’t take it any further. She simply held Vera close.

Some moments later, the clock struck twelve and Vera finally opened her mouth to speak. “Happy new year, Joan.”

“Happy new year, Vera,” Joan whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I very nearly titled this fic "Fuck It" because it took me 300 years and a lot of frustration to write. And I'm only mildly satisfied with how it turned out. I hope anyone who reads it finds something enjoyable in it. If you do, let me know. :)


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